


don't be dead

by v3ilfire



Series: between fields of fire and miles to go [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:37:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5201036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v3ilfire/pseuds/v3ilfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amor -</p><p>The only reason I do not abandon my mission here in Antiva is because I have not heard any news, good or bad, out of your Arling. You must only give a word and I will fly right back to your side.</p><p>I have heard troubling things about the talking Darkspawn. I hope most of it to be exaggeration. Do you still have nightmares? Can you sleep? I hope you are not overworking yourself, as you do.</p><p>Please respond when you can, or I shall have to write Oghren for news.</p><p>Yours,<br/>Z.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't be dead

“You absolutely _have_ to go?”  
“You have already asked that.” 

Camilla stood leaning against the door to her (their) room, a generous and lavishly-decorated space in the Denerim palace that she was all too ready to vacate. Meanwhile, Zevran gathered his belongings into a fine leather bag, humming along when he wasn’t answering Camilla’s redundant queries.

“I keep hoping you’ll change your answer,” she grumbled, mostly to herself. She had just gotten used to having him around _without_ the constant threat of death and dismemberment. According to Zevran, the Crows had other ideas.  
“No such luck, mi amor. Do not worry, I am sure you will be too busy with Amaranthine to even notice that I am gone.”

Camilla sighed. She _would_ be busy with Amaranthine - though whoever the hell thought it was a good idea to give her Howe’s former arling was clearly delusional. She was neither a capable ruler nor a willing one, and she surely didn’t want anything that used to belong to the man who betrayed her whole family.

Zevran set his hands on his hips as he gave the room one final once-over.  
“I believe that is everything.”  
“I’ll walk you out.”

Camilla was only eye-level with the assassin when she stood on the second step in front of the palace. Zevran faced her worried pout with his signature cocky grin, clearly lacking even a shred of the concern for his own safety that she wore explicitly on her face.  
“Don’t worry so much, mi amor. I have seen enough terrors at your side to not fear the Crows any longer.”  
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”  
“Ah, so you admit. You do worry.”

Zevran fully expected the punch on the arm that she dealt him - though he had expected her to hit quite a bit harder than she did.

“Oh, fuck you,” she said, but the curse lacked any bite.  
“Perhaps when I return. Ships do not tend to wait for people.” He waited for her to finish rolling her eyes before he leaned in for a kiss. “I must admit, it is strange not to have to lean down to you.”  
“You know what, on second thought, I think I do need a vacation from you.”

His chuckle was interrupted by another kiss, and only then did his Warden-Commander begin to climb the stairs back into the palace.

She was still terrible with goodbyes.

\---

Amaranthine proved just as irritating as she thought it would be.

She had only been there a month, and already she was under the scrutiny of the city guard, trying to disband a smuggling ring, trying to unearth a conspiracy against her, and trying to raise money to plug whatever holes darkspawn kept crawling out of. The whole thing was a Maker-forsaken nightmare, on top of which she had to deal with Oghren, a mage named Anders who she had mostly recruited to spite the Chantry, and her favorite person in the whole wide world: Nathaniel Howe.

“Send this out,” she grumbled as she thrust a letter into the hands of the flinchy Private, her three new recruits in tow as they marched out of Vigil’s Keep and towards the Blackmarsh.

\--

_Zevran,_

_I don’t know what to write, but I thought I should. I hope I have the right place to send this to. And I hope you’re actually checking your mail there and I’m not wasting my precious Warden-Commander time. It’s stretched predictably thin between all the fucking bullshit I have to deal with - some nobleman wanted me to rescue his daughter from bandits. I thought killing the Archdemon meant I’ve graduated from errand-girl, but I guess I’ve been proven wrong before._

_These prissy pieces of shit can’t decide if they want to suck up to me because Fergus is some war hero, because I’m a Cousland, or because I killed the Archdemon. I’d strangle them all if I could._

_I’m told that would reflect poorly on the Order._

_Oh, and I’ve got a Howe here who’s now under my command, but also hates me. I’m having a great time, if you couldn’t tell, but thankfully I’m not running out of Darkspawn to take all of my unbridled joy out on._

_And, get this! They talk now. Fucking great._

_Don’t be dead._  
  
_Respectfully yours,_  
_Warden-Commander Camilla Cousland, Hero of Fuck-All and Sick of Everyone's Pestering_

\---

She got a surprisingly prompt response on her way back from the Blackmarsh - with a Spirit of Justice this time, no less. Camilla grabbed the unmarked letter and marched past everyone who even looked at her with the intent of talking to her, up to her chambers. She slammed her door and locked it behind her, desperate for just one night of quiet. Even the Blight wasn’t as annoying as running an arling.

The letter sat on her desk as she stripped of her armor and waited for her to finish bathing and dressing for sleep. Camilla picked it up on her way to the bed, her eyelids already struggling to stay open as she flopped onto her pillows.

When she opened the letter, a drawing fell out. City streets, from the view of a second-floor window. The paper smelled somehow like sunshine, and it made her smile as she set it aside.

\---

_Greetings from sunny Antiva!_

_As sorry as I am that you cannot join me, I am glad that you are safe in cloudy Ferelden. The sun beats down relentlessly here, and I fear that your delicate white skin would burn right up in its wake._

_Either that, or you would try to fight the sun. I would not recommend that, as it looks even farther away from me than Amaranthine is, and my heart aches for you already._

_The Crows have not yet made contact, and I am very much not dead. Let me know if you require any assistance in taking care of those nobles - upon my return, I would be more than happy to do so. For a fee, of course, which can be paid over the course of several days if you have begun to tire easily under stress._

_As I am sure you are still very busy, I will not take up more of your time. I hope the Howe is not giving you much trouble, and that the talking Darkspawn can at least tell jokes._

_Yours always,_  
_Z._

\---

Camilla forgot how much she hated the Deep Roads until she had gone to Kal’Hirol and back. The venture had taken months and had sapped her of her energy just like the first time she ever went down into that Maker-forsaken Dwarven play at a hellhole.

She almost didn’t notice the stack of letters when she collapsed onto her bed, still fully armed. Upon seeing the sheer volume of unmarked scrolls, Camilla found the motivation to stand and strip herself of the dirt-covered plating. She even went for a bath, and went so far as to think about trimming her hair - but that would have to wait ‘till morning.

(Or until Zevran came back - he always did it better than she could.)

Most of the letters were just drawings. She posted one after the other on her wall, next to and around the first one he’d sent. There were a few brief missives about the Crows (who had finally made contact, evidently), and one particularly scrawly letter detailing parts of Camilla’s body in ways that could make Oghren blush. Another, more coherent one, raised concern at her long-standing lack of a reply.

\---

_Zev -_

_First of all, I don’t recommend killing the guildmaster. You might have to take over that responsibility, and I speak from experience to how absolutely fucking moronic that kind of move is. I know it’s tempting to swim in glory and women and riches, but trust me, it isn’t worth it. Second of all, stop writing me drunk._

_Sorry I’ve been quiet. It’s still shitty on my end. I make one thing go away, and ten more pop up from underneath. Literally. We went into the Deep Roads again. Still hate them. They’re rougher without you._

_Howe’s surprisingly ok. I don’t think he knew his dad was a worthless shitbag. We found his sister. She’s ok too. I’m trying to be nice. Oghren says hi - well, he burped, but that’s essentially the same thing._

_Thanks for the drawings. They’re pretty._

_Please come home soon._

_\- Camilla_

\---

Camilla stopped counting the days, or giving a shit about anything really. It seemed like it was another day, another disaster.

Velanna was, at the very least, a kindred spirit to her. Not that she’d ever say that out loud, but it was nice to find someone just as fed up with everything as she was. Given, there are better people to be locked in a Darkspawn-infested dungeon and fight two dragons with, but hey. When she was flinging spells around with deadly accuracy, there was little room to complain.

Upon returning to Vigil’s Keep, she ignored Warden-Commander this and Warden-Commander that just to race back to her quarters and lock the door. As soon as she did so, there was a knock.

“ _What_?” Camilla barked.  
“I -- terribly sorry, Commander, but there is… a lot of mail.”

With a groan, she peeled herself up off the bed and shuffled to the door, opening it just wide enough for the Private to shove a sack through.

By the time Camilla finished pinning all the new drawings up on the wall, the exhaustion caught up to her once more. Reading the letters would have to wait until the next morning. Or afternoon, it seemed, because by the time Camilla woke up, the sun was far past the mid-point in the sky and shone annoyingly in her eyes. Perhaps she didn’t even need to be in Antiva in order to want to fight it.

His letters started out short and perky as they always did - two drunken dirty ones that time, but each only half as graphic as the first she’d received. The urge to burn them to smithereens wasn’t quite as prevalent (though she did so anyway). The rest of his writings became, she noted, increasingly frantic the longer she did not respond.

\---

_Amor -_

_The only reason I do not abandon my mission here in Antiva is because I have not heard any news, good or bad, out of your Arling. You must only give a word and I will fly right back to your side._

_I have heard troubling things about the talking Darkspawn. I hope most of it to be exaggeration. Do you still have nightmares? Can you sleep? I hope you are not overworking yourself, as you do._

_Please respond when you can, or I shall have to write Oghren for news._

_Yours,_  
_Z._

\---

Camilla scribbled her response and nearly threw it at the Private. She’d have to give the poor thing a pay raise.

\---

_Zev -_

_I’m alive. I sleep when I can. No archdemon nightmares, some normal ones. Nothing I can’t handle. Please don’t write Oghren._

_I think the carriage that takes the mail is coming soon, so I’m going to keep this short._

_The nobles who wanted to kill me have been taken care of. Vigil’s Keep is fortified. Howe and I are friends, you’d get a kick out of the new Wardens (especially Velanna), everything is still annoying, and there’s an Avvar crypt underneath the Keep._

_The talking Darkspawn are split into two factions! One is a gross Broodmother and the other is apparently trying to make Darkspawn sentient and not… awful murderers? I don’t know._

_I just… I don’t know. My skin is buzzing. Something’s about to happen. I wrote Alistair, and he’s just as confused as I am. The new people are too new to give a fucking opinion, so as per always, it’s up to me._

_I told Alistair to write you if something happens to me, so you can stop panicking._

_Stay safe in Antiva. Don’t hurry back._

\---

She was not surprised when everything went up in flames. Who would be, after a Blight?

Losses were heavy, but both Amaranthine and Vigil’s Keep withstood the onslaught. There were - miraculously - no losses from the new Wardens, and Camilla herself managed to only break a couple of ribs.

“I still can’t believe you let the Architect go,” Nathaniel sighed. Camilla, who he was carrying piggy-back, couldn’t either. “Was that a good decision?”  
“Who the fuck knows?”  
“Not you, I’m guessing.”

And she knew she wouldn’t for a long time. At least the mystery was kept alive.

Camilla’s recovery was slow - not a lot of rest to be had when she was put in charge of rebuilding the Keep. The Private found her in the courtyard. Camilla eyed the sack the woman was carrying with a raised brow.  
“I did not have a chance to deliver these before the Keep was assaulted, Commander.”

Much to Camilla’s disappointment, most of the letters were from concerned nobles. A couple were from Alistair, a hefty handful from Fergus, and one very brief missive from Weisshaupt that only barely acknowledged what was happening with the Keep. There were some new drawings which she pinned to the little empty space she had on the wall near her desk. She sat back and stared at the lot of them - scribbles of city streets, of random passerby, one very detailed drawing of a pair of leather boots. Some had annotations, others didn’t. Her favorite was the drawing of a barkeep with the note, ‘So distracted by my beauty that she spilled the beer she was going to offer me for free.’

The letters were so bizarre they almost made her laugh. The only one that mattered ended with the words, _I’m coming home._

Predictably, business with the Crows got complicated, but he was coming _home._

\--

_Amor -_

_Things did not go so well with the Crows, but I believe I have given them enough to stall their pursuit for some time._

_I received a letter from our beloved King, and feared to open it. I understand you are alright, and so, everything else can wait until we are reunited._

_Which - that will be soon. I am coming home._

_Expect me soon._

_Z._

\---

And suddenly, the days got longer and the earring still dangling from her ear got _a lot_ heavier.

\---

Three weeks later, during her meeting with Seneschal Varel (who had been, the entire time, nothing short of a blessing in Camilla’s eyes), a messenger came knocking.  
“Pardon the interruption, but… an elf claiming to be the Warden-Commander’s… husband is outside the Keep.”

Camilla wasn’t sure if the look the messenger gave her in that moment was more confused because she didn’t seem the marrying type (as she was often told) or because some random elf showed up after nearly a year and a half claiming to be her husband, but she didn’t have time to care. Without a word to the Senechal, she launched herself from the chair she occupied and ran for the front doors.

She would have taken the stairs down three at a time if not for the limitations of her stature. There he stood at their base, arms open to greet her but clearly not expecting the force with which she launched herself at him, given that he nearly fell over. Thankfully for both of them, he recovered his balance almost seamlessly, and wound his arms tightly around Camilla’s waist as he spun her around and let her back down onto her feet.

He smelled like leather, and it made her want to cry.

Camilla did not let go of Zevran’s hand until they were at the door to her chambers, where they could talk in private. She had started rambling on about repairs and was already sitting pretty on her bed when she realized that the assassin was still frozen in her doorway, staring in the direction of her desk.

And then it hit her.

Never in her life had she wanted to hide in a hole quite so much as when she realized that well over a hundred of his drawings still plastered her desk and the wall before it. At least he couldn’t see that all of the letters were stuffed into the drawers. Zevran stared at the display with an absent-minded smile, in blissful ignorance of the violent shade of red Camilla’s face turned for at least half a minute.

He did her the kindness of not mentioning it.

“It’s not what you think!” she blurted out - but what the hell else would it be?  
“Oh? Strange, but it looks suspiciously like you missed me, mi amor.”  
“Well -- yeah, no, of course I did, but -- they’re just -- they’re pretty, alright?”  
“So you’ve said.”

Zevran’s smile drained the feeling from her legs the moment he turned it to her. Her memory clearly didn’t do him justice.

“I uh -- how was… Antiva?”  
“I believe, of the two of us, you have the more exciting story. But, travel is draining and staying in Denerim has spoiled me in terms of wanting a proper bed. A straw mattress just does not compare. Our tales can wait until the morning, I am sure.”

Camilla did not forget how much she missed sharing a bed with him. The Keep was close enough to a castle to make sleeping there alone uncomfortable for her. She did not tell him that she woke to knocks at her door that were not there more than once.

“You’ve gotten darker,” she murmured as she held her freckled arm against his, atop the blankets. She didn't realize how much she had wanted to  _touch_ him until she had the opportunity to again.  
“Your hair has gotten longer,” he responded, and moved his hand to ruffle the longer chunk of it. The ponytail she wore it in was no longer a tuft, and the sides of her head looked in need of a fresh shave. She had refused to let anyone else do it, and only had time to maintain it every once in every while.  
“Mhm. You’ll have to cut it tomorrow.”  
“My first day back and already, I have orders. Have you no pity for your the weary traveler?”   
“No.” He laughed at that.

They lay in silence for a bit until Zevran reached towards her face again, this time fingering the golden earring still in her ear. Camilla watched his face as he examined it, unable to read his expression in the semi-darkness, but he said nothing. Instead, he pulled her flush against himself and kissed her forehead.

She was asleep the moment they stopped moving, body and mind both still exhausted from all the Keep had thrown at her. Zevran laid awake a while longer, happy to remind himself that his Warden, for all her recklessness, was in one piece and in his arms. He had little mind to leave her to deal with the world alone ever again, Crows be damned. Letters were a poor substitute for the feeling of her breath against his skin.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i read somewhere that zev must be good at drawing or at least LIKE to, given that he carries his inks and tattooing needles everywhere. so i used that to be cheesy.
> 
> also, apparently copying and pasting large chunks of text on my work mac creates typos i didn't make. i will be trying to catch them all over the next couple of days.


End file.
